


lay us down (we’re in love)

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Graphic Descriptions of blood, M/M, ambiguous setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: “I’m alive.” Carl’s voice is a croak, but it seems impossibly loud in the small bathroom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for anon on tumblr who requested "Carl having to shower in front of Negan?"

The grip on his arm should be slipping, but it’s not. The blood coating his skin should prevent the thick fingers from finding firm purchase around his fragile limb, but it doesn’t. He should be yanking his way out of the hold, but he isn’t.

Carl lets himself be dragged along, too tired to fight anymore. The rain is coming down hard but does nothing to wash away the blood. Carl feels sick, sticky, feels like everything he sees is colored in shades of red. He keeps his eye closed rather than try to watch the chaos settle around him. He doesn’t need to see to be pulled along, anyway. Distantly he realizes his teeth are chattering together, clicking and clacking from the cold. He tries to tune out the grating sound and focus on his breathing instead.

It doesn’t work, but he keeps trying.

The longer he walks, the more tired he becomes. His legs start to shake and he keeps his eye shut because he doesn’t have the strength to do anything else.

“C’mon, kid, we’re almost there.” The voice cuts through the fog inside his skull. Sure and heavy, the words push back the pounding in his head and wake him up enough to keep going. “That’s it, that’s good.”

Carl doesn’t grin, too exhausted for that, but the hurricane of adrenaline inside his veins settles.

The warmth of the sanctuary is minimal, but enough to startle Carl out of his daze. He opens his eye slowly and looks around; he’s unsurprised to see it nearly empty, but grateful all the same. He stays lax in Negan’s grip until the bedroom door snaps shut behind them. Only then, once they’re alone, only then does Negan let go of his arm. Only then does Negan face him.

Negan doesn’t say anything else. He steps closer and cups Carl’s cheeks gently. He looks angry, ashen in the face, brow drawn together in distaste. He’s got his own fair share of blood smeared all over, but it’s nothing compared to Carl. Negan lets out a harsh, sharp exhale and it warms Carl’s face.

“C’mon,” Negan commands gently. He jerks his head toward the bathroom attached and when he turns to walk, Carl follows at his heels obediently. He stands in the doorway, quiet, as Negan starts on the shower. Negan pushes back the curtain and immediately turns the water as hot as it will go. Once steam is starting to rise off the spray, filling the bathroom, then he faces Carl again.

“Strip.” Still, his voice is delicate. Carl obeys all the same. He’s barely gotten his flannel shirt off before Negan steps into his space again and starts to help. While Carl wrestles out of his shirts, Negan’s hands go to the belt around his waist. He makes quick work of the leather, and moves onto the buttons and zipper. There’s nothing sensual in the touch, no heat pushing them along like might be there normally.

Their movements are measured, calculated; in no time, Carl is naked in the bathroom, skin tacky with blood. Negan steps back and gestures to the shower.

Carl finally shoots him a raised eyebrow and small grin. All the same, he steps under the scalding spray. He shivers at the onslaught of heat but doesn’t change the temperature at all—it feels like heaven on his iced skin.

Negan puts the lid of the toilet seat down, and sits, and watches. His hands clench into fists at his sides and he watches Carl wash. It’d be weird if not for the world they live in now, if not for the fact that _everything’s_ a little bit weird.

Carl scrubs off the blood that’s caked and dried on some parts. The wet patches slip off him, thick like slime. It’s metallic and stinks and Carl wishes he had something to cover it up. He doesn’t, so he keeps washing. He dips his head under the water and scrapes along his scalp until the water runs more clear than pink. He fidgets with his torn nails until there’s no blood under them, and his skin is flushed pink from his own attention than from the lingering stain of other people’s insides.

When he finally feels clean he turns to Negan. He leaves the water on and stares at Negan.

“Lookin’ good,” Negan murmurs. He stands and reaches past Carl to turn the water off. He doesn’t move far after, though. Once more he raises his hands to cup Carl’s face. “Fuck, kid. What the hell were you thinking?”

Carl doesn’t have an answer. He opens his mouth but there’s nothing he can say. At this point, everything that happened is little more than a blur. He blinks and each time his vision goes dark, he sees glimpses of the battle they just walked away from. A brief shake from Negan forces Carl back to reality. Carl closes his mouth, and in the end he shrugs.

Negan barks out a laugh and shakes his head. His nails bite into the apples of Carl’s cheeks. His touch quakes against Carl until the younger man reaches for him. Carl lays his own smaller, finer hands over Negan’s, and the quaking eventually stops.

“I’m alive.” Carl’s voice is a croak, but it seems impossibly loud in the small bathroom.

“Yes you fuckin’ are.” Negan kisses him, and it tastes like blood and rain.


End file.
